In Nomine Patris by Ness Ayton1

This story first appeared in “The Alternative Robin of Sherwood Zine” sometime ago now.

The cold, grey cloister was silent save for the quiet padding of sandalled feet and the soft swish of a brown robe as the novice paced slowly up and down the stonework, trying to get the incidents of the last hour sorted in his brain. It hadn't really been his fault, he reasoned. Cedric was unreasonable beyond all endurance, and if he hadn't started in his usual whiney voice none of it would have happened. He could hear his fellow novice's voice again.

"Wolves don't have souls."

"They must do," he himself had remonstrated, calmly at that point, "or why would it have helped the people find Saint Edmund?"

"That's only a legend," Cedric had sneered.

"Legends sometimes come to life," he had replied, shortly. There had then followed, much to the delight of the other novices, a heated argument which had ended in him rolling up his sleeve and punching Cedric in the eye.

The thought of Cedric's eye on the morrow brought a wry grin to his face, but also served as a timely reminder of why he was in the cloisters. Footsteps stopped him in his tracks and he turned to see the Abbot approaching from the dormitory. He hung his head and waited for the wrath that he knew must fall.

"Ah, Tuck, what are we going to do with you?"

He glanced up at the gentle words and saw a gleam in the Abbot's eye. Perhaps, Tuck reflected, he hadn't always been holier than thou, and the young novice's heart rose.

"The library, I think," the Abbot continued.

Tuck turned and headed for the library, glad to have escaped so lightly. It was while he was climbing up the winding stairs that it suddenly occurred to him that no other novice was given library as punishment; they were always sent out to work in the fields. He grinned as he settled to the task in hand; perhaps there was justice in the world after all. Glancing briefly at the passage he had been asked to copy he smiled at the irony of the choice. He looked round the room and caught Brother Martin's eye.

"I thought you would like to do that piece for us," the older man said quietly.

Tuck bent over the desk and smoothed the parchment out in front of him. Dipping his quill into the ink he started the laborious task of copying. As he wrote the words seemed to spring to life before his eyes and he could almost picture the scene to himself.

“In the year of our Lord 870, good King Edmund was captured by the Danes. Offered his life if he would renounce his Christian faith, he refused and so was tied to a tree and shot full of spears. Once dead, his head was cut off and hidden in thick brambles so that none would find and bury it.

When the Danes finally left, the villagers entered the green woods to try and find the head of their beloved king. As they walked each called to another, "Where are you now, friend?" so that they might not lose track of where they were. Suddenly, through the dark there came a voice crying, "Here, here".

When they approached nigh unto the sound they found that it was the head itself that called. It lay between the paws of a great grey wolf who had protected it from harm. When it saw that they came in peace, it allowed the villagers to recover Edmund's head and take it for burial. Like a shadow, it accompanied them on their way home. Once it was satisfied that the head was in good hands the wolf disappeared back into the forest and was never seen again.”

Tuck sighed as he set the quill down and glanced up. The library was deserted and he realised, with a shock, that he had missed the evening meal. His grumbling stomach gave credence to this even as Brother Martin entered the chamber. Smiling kindly at the novice, he took the parchment and said,

"Go to the kitchens and get yourself something to eat. You've worked hard and well."

Gratefully Tuck descended the stairs and crossed over to the kitchen only too aware that Brother Simon did not like serving late meals. He was right. The cook was far from happy, banging the pots around noisily all the time that Tuck was eating, and the novice was glad to escape to vespers, followed by bed and sleep.

Tuck's dreams that night were troubled by visions of wolves, talking heads and aﾐ tall, dark man lying in a stone circle, shot full of arrows; and it was with a feeling of relief that he awoke, heavy eyed, the next morning.

Cedric's rainbow coloured eye drew Tuck's attention at breakfast so that he almost missed the Abbot assigning the pigs to him for the day. It was not a job he really enjoyed, but at least it would get him away from Cedric and trouble. After morning prayers he hurried down to the pigsty and herded the wayward animals along the riverbank and into the trees next to the spring that flowed out of the hillside a little way along the bank.

He was barely half way up the slope when he heard the pigs, who had rushed ahead, rootling amongst the leaves for the grubs and truffles that formed their diet. With a deep sigh Tuck scrambled up the rest of the hillside and settled himself, as comfortably as he could, in a nest of dry leaves amongst the roots of an old oak tree. Lulled by the sound of the gorging pigs he was soon asleep, secure in the knowledge that they would not stray far or would make for home.

A chill breeze whispering through the trees woke him from his slumber. Heﾐ immediately missed the sound of the feeding pigs and opened his eyes. Not far from him stood a large, grey wolf; its green eyes watching him warily, a paw resting lightly on a fallen branch. Its nose twitched as it scented the man on the breeze but it made no move towards him.

Painfully slowly Tuck sat up, not taking his eyes off the creature once. It continued to regard him solemnly as he shifted his bulk into a more upright position. Having achieved his aim he glanced round cautiously for the pigs. Broken twigs and flattened ferns showed where they had rushed headlong in their panic. He scrutinised the wolfﾐ carefully to see if it had actually caught any of his charges but the lack of blood assured him that they were all safe, though scared.

Tuck and the wolf continued to eye each other warily, neither daring to make the first move, until at last the grey creature whimpered slightly and raised its paw. At once the young novice saw a large thorn driven into the pad. Pity welled up inside him, for he hated to see anything in pain, and he moved slowly forward.

Calmly the wolf watched his approach, holding its paw out to him. Offering a brief prayer for safety and crossing himself Tuck took hold of the paw and drew out the thorn. A soft growl in the back of the throat was the only indication of its hurt. Once the thorn was gone the wolf bent its head and licked the helping hand gently. Then it looked up at the young man. Drawn by its gentleness Tuck gazed into the green eyes and saw gratitude. Once it was sure that Tuck understood the wolf turned its attention to its wound. Carefully it cleaned the torn flesh, unconcerned by the novice's proximity. Satisfied that there was nothing more it could do to ease its pain the wolf gave him a half smile and then, with a flash of its green eyes, it melted away into the trees and was gone.

Aware that the sun was now low in the sky Tuck wearily retraced his steps to the abbey to be met by the sight of the pigs safely in the sty and an irate Brother Matthew whose charges they were. The reprimand flowed over him as he thought about the wolf that he had helped. In his heart he knew that he had truly been doing his Father's work, showing love to another living creature, and he hoped that the wolf would survive the dangers of the forest.

It was the next day that the implications of the events of the previous day were brought home to him for he found himself accompanying Brother Peter on that month's trip to Nottingham; an arduous and hated journey. Nobody liked the task, and it was considered the worst penance of all to be sent.

As he and Brother Peter clattered through the abbey gates, perched on the hardﾐ seat of the cart, Tuck thought once again of the wolf and smiled. The thought took the discomfort out of the journey as they jolted their way along the bumpy road.

Midday saw the travellers sitting at the side of the road eating their meagre rations of bread and cheese. After the mead Brother Peter settled back against the wheel of the cart and fell asleep. Tuck watched as his companion's mouth dropped open and he began to snore. Unable to sleep himself, the novice scrambled to his feet and looked at his surroundings.

He had just finished examining all the trees when he became aware of a grey shape watching him. Turning slowly he saw a large wolf standing amongst the shadows. Quietly they stood and looked at each other until, with a strange feeling of recognition, Tuck found himself smiling at the creature. Abruptly it lifted a paw, turned and limped off through the trees. The novice hurried after it, convinced in his heart that it was his wolf.

The wolf led the young man along the edge of the forest until the trees gave way to a grassy plain where it came to a stop under the last tree and looked across the plain, while the novice stopped beside it and followed the steady gaze.

In the distance he could just make out a small stone circle and a shiver ran down his spine. The wolf glanced up at him and then turned its eyes once more on the distant shape. Tuck took a hesitant step out into the sunshine and then stopped. The compulsion to go to the circle was overwhelming but he waited. The wolf eyed him thoughtfully and then nuzzled at the back of his legs with its nose. With a sharp intake of breath Tuck set off across the grass towards the standing stones.

The grass curled round Tuck's ankles as he pottered across the plain; the stones growing gradually larger as he approached the circle. A short way off he stopped and listened. The wind blowing round the stones sounded mournful and he was sure that he could hear a child crying.

Gathering together the remnants of his courage Tuck entered the circle and came to an abrupt halt. In the centre of the stones a boy knelt in the long grass, crying. The young novice reckoned he was about ten, a few years younger than himself.

Not wanting to intrude upon the boy's obvious grief Tuck started to back out of the circle.

"Why have you come?" The quiet voice stopped the novice in his tracks and he looked at the boy.

"The wolf sent me," he replied, without thinking.

"I see." The boy didn't seem at all surprised and Tuck walked across to him. As he drew closer he was startled to see the boy's eyes. They were as green as the wolf's but with a swirling depth that the creature had lacked.

"Why are you here?" he asked the boy curiously. The lad wiped the back of his hand across his nose and sniffed hard.

"My father died here," the child replied.

"I'm sorry," Tuck murmured, mentally kicking himself.

"The sheriff's men shot him," the boy continued quietly. His dream of two nightsﾐ ago flashed through Tuck's mind.

"Shot full of arrows," he murmured under his breath.

"Yes," the lad concurred, staring at a spot on the ground. "They have the silver arrow now," he confided.

"But surely that's a legend," Tuck protested.

"Legends sometimes come to life," the boy informed him solemnly. Tuck smiled.

"Yes, I suppose they do," he agreed with a smile. "Where's he buried?" he continued gently.

"I do not know. The sheriff took his body. This is the only place that I know where I can mourn him."

Feeling a distinct need to share the boy's grief Tuck knelt and prayed.

"In Nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti," he finished softly. A hand on his shoulder made him glance up. To his surprise the boy seemed to be visibly moved by the prayer.

"Thank you," the young peasant murmured, "but Herne will look after him, for all religions are one."

With the strong impression that the boy knew something that most didn't, something from beyond the dawn of time, Tuck scrambled to his feet. A pair of green eyes, wolf's eyes, watched the novice as he straightened his robe.

"Thank you for being here," the boy said. "Nothing's forgotten. Nothing is ever forgotten."

Tuck walked slowly out of the circle and then stopped, wondering which way to go. As he stood pondering the possibilities, Brother Peter came into sight, leading the cart along the dusty track which wound past the stones.

"There you are," the monk called. "I wondered where you'd gone. A great wolf scared the donkey and I've only just caught it." Tuck sent a swift prayer heavenwards that it had run in his direction as he scrambled onto the seat.

As the cart drove off towards Nottingham Tuck turned. Amongst the stones he saw the figure of the boy kneeling in the grass. As he watched a grey shape slipped from the shadows and padded across to the young peasant. It came to rest beside him and then lay down at his feet and Tuck was convinced that the wolf was protecting the boy. He turned back again and focussed his attention on the dusty road in front of them.

Nottingham was a sad, grey town full of poor people struggling to earn enough to buy a loaf of bread for their families. Tuck kept his eyes on the dusty ground, unwilling to look at them, only too aware of the comfortable, well fed life that he and Brother Peterﾐ led in their secure abbey. Every time he came into contact with the outside world he felt the same guilt that he felt now. He glanced sideways at his companion to see if it affected the other man, but the monk was looking around him, whistling cheerfully, seemingly unaware of the poverty that lined the road.

Peter halted the cart beside the tavern and scrambled down. Tuck followed, desperately trying not to get entangled in his robe as he skirted the large muddy puddle that Brother Peter had found. The older man turned to the novice.

"You may explore the town for a while," he said, "but I want you back to help load the cart before they close the gates. Understand?" Tuck nodded. "And stay out of trouble," the monk continued. Tuck nodded again and made good his escape as the monk entered the tavern.

The frequent muddy puddles bore testimony to the fact that it had rained not long before and Tuck had to pick his way carefully around them, knowing that a dirty robe would not endear him to Brother Thomas in the laundry. In fact, now he had time to think about it, he seemed to cause a lot of extra work for his fellow monks. He was surprised that they put up with him the way they did. A small child crying in the dirt drew his attention.

The boy was curled up against the wheel of a miller's cart, his thumb stuck firmly in his mouth, tears rolling down his dirty cheeks. Every now and then he gave a shuddering sob and tightened his grip on the wheel. Tuck knelt beside him.

"Where's your father?" he asked gently, assuming that the boy belonged to the miller since he seemed so attached to the cart.

"Dunno," the child gulped noisily, eying him warily. "Me hungry," he announced suddenly. Tuck grinned.

"Just wait a minute," he told the child. Pulling himself upright he hurried across the road to a stall and bought a large red apple. Quickly he returned to the child's side and handed it to him. The child snatched it greedily and began to eat, crunching away at the firm fruit and licking its sweet juices from his chin. Suddenly he stopped, apple half-way to his mouth, and looked up squarely at the young man.

"T'anks," he sniffed and then fell to again.

With a sense of well-being Tuck continued on his way through the bustling streets until he came to the market place where he stopped and watched the jugglers and tumblers performing for the townsfolk. He caught a glimpse of Brother Peter in the distance and wondered if he should offer to help the monk but before he had completely made up his mind the crowd parted to let a procession of horses and carriages through.

At the head of the group rode a tall blond man. His horse, a black stallion, fretted nervously at the bit and was so skittish that several stalls were very nearly knocked over. By his side a small pony carried a young noble boy. It carefully kept out of the way of the larger horse's hooves but jolted its rider in the process. The boy did not look too happy, Tuck thought, as he watched them pass.

As the last horse passed the novice its rider, a slightly older boy with dark hair, impatiently dug his heels into its flank. The startled creature leapt forward and bumped into the horse in front causing it to bolt and very quickly the rest of the horses had scattered through the market place and into the surrounding streets. The lord himself disappeared into the castle courtyard, much to the surprise of the watch. The child, who had been riding at his side, was nowhere in sight. Tuck watched as horses and riders sorted themselves out before carrying on across the square and into yet another muddy street.

It wasn't long before the young novice found himself outside a church. Stopping to admire the building he suddenly became aware of being watched. Glancing all around he could see nobody, but the feeling continued. At last he raised his eyes to the roof of a nearby house and was startled, though not surprised, to see a wolf crouching low. Its outline masked by the shadows, the green eyes regarded him solemnly until he turned and sought the sanctuary of the church.

Inside the building it was cool and dark. Tuck stood quietly, head bowed, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom before making his way to the altar. As he approached he heard a muffled sob in one of the side chapels. Slowly he made his way over to the door and peeped in. Huddled in a corner was the blond child that he had seen earlier in the market place. Moving quietly to the small figure he knelt down beside the boy.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently. The boy gave a gulp and looked up, trying to curl into an even smaller ball and disappear into the stonework.

"What's wrong?" Tuck coaxed again.

"I've lost the pony," the child gulped at last. "He threw me when the other horses started bolting and ran off into the town. Father will be so cross; it was a new pony."

"Well, in that case, we'd better go and look for it," Tuck said.

"We?" the boy asked.

"Yes, you and me."

"Where?"

"Well, where do you think a frightened horse would go?"

The child shrugged and Tuck sighed. This could prove to be a difficult search but he was determined to help; his kind heart couldn't bear to see anyone in distress. Lifting the child gently to his feet the novice led him from the church. Green eyes watched them go before a grey shadow slipped away over the wall.

The search was a long one and both Tuck and the boy were tired and thirsty by the time they found the pony grazing quietly just outside the town gate. Relief shone in the lad's eyes as he took the reins firmly in his hands and led the creature back through the gate. As he made his way along the street towards the castle the child turned and, walking backwards, cried,

"Thank you."

Tuck waved a cheery hand as the curfew sounded and he was reminded of the reason for his being in Nottingham. With a sinking heart he hurried back to the tavern to find a resigned Brother Peter standing patiently by the full cart.

"I should have known," the older man grinned.

"I'm sorry," Tuck blurted out. "I meant to come back and help, I really did, but......."

"Don't worry," Peter told him. "It's all done now, but we must go before they close the gate."

Urging the donkey forward they slipped out just as the guards were pushing the heavy wooden gates to and set off down the dusty road, hoping to make the village of Wickham before dark. In front of them the sun was blood red in a lowering sky and in the distance they could hear the rumble of thunder.

Just as the sun was setting the storm broke around them. Knowing that they would never make Wickham with the terrified donkey the two men sought for dry cover. They were lucky in that they soon managed to find a small cave half-hidden in the undergrowth. Dragging the donkey into it they tethered the animal to a large log before gathering together the dry tinder scattered on the floor to make a fire to dry their robes and cook themselves a meal. Finally they pulled a couple of sacks of grain onto the floor and settled to sleep.

Late that night Tuck woke suddenly and sat up. Through the darkness he could make out two green eyes at the entrance of the cave. Without a second thought, he rose from his sack and went out into the night. Slowly, as if aware that his sight was not as good as the animal's, the wolf led him through the trees to a small lake deep in Sherwood.

A gentle ripple ran across the surface of the water and a soft breeze ruffled the leaves overhead as a large antlered shadow approached him. It came to a stop a few yards in front of him and held up its hand. Nervously, Tuck crossed himself murmuring a quick prayer. Through the gloom he could see the shape smiling at him.

"I am Herne," the creature stated, "Lord of the Trees."

"Legends sometimes come to life," the novice muttered under his breath as the wolf moved to the god's side.

"Sometimes," Herne agreed, patting the grey creature's head.

"Why have you summoned me?" Tuck asked curiously.

"To thank you for looking after my children," the god replied.

"Your children?"

"Yes. The child in the circle; the child by the cart and the child in the church. They are all my children. Thank you."

"I was only doing my Father's work," the novice stammered.

"All religions are one, my son," Herne said gently. "Now go before your companion awakes."

The wolf led Tuck back through Sherwood to the cave where Brother Peter was beginning to stir. Breakfast finished and the donkey seen to they set off for the abbey once more. As they passed through the outlying trees the novice turned and looked back. There, amongst the deep shadows, stood Herne and the wolf watching them go; and on the breeze came three childish voices.